My feet and ankles tell me to invest in some pairs of compression socks to keep down the swelling.

My knees remind me that I’m no kid anymore and two steps at a time is too much on the stairs.

My sacroiliac joints say that they’re no joke. Cortisone injections would be greatly appreciated.

My stomach tries to convince me that it is starving, but that it’s had enough salad and salmon.

My spine keeps bugging me to find a place to sit down.

My shoulder warns me that it could be replaced.

My joints have had it with this Arthur character.

My head is confused. It sends me mixed messages that its both fine and foggy. Which is it?

My eyes thank me for the cataract surgery but keep the eyedrops coming.

My hair thinks it has worn out its welcome.

My skin wants to know if I’ve run out of lotion and anti-itching cream.

My doctor wants me to get in shape, but I keep telling him that a pear is a shape.

So, I guess I’ll keep listening to my body, but, frankly, I wish the conversation weren’t so depressing. I’ve tried talking back, but its listening skills are lousy. Most revealing, however, is that when my body asks me if I’m ready to trade it in for my glorified body, I always respond that it sounds wonderful, but I’ll put up with this old model a little longer.

“But let me tell you something wonderful, a mystery I’ll probably never fully understand. We’re not all going to die—but we are all going to be changed. You hear a blast to end all blasts from a trumpet, and in the time that you look up and blink your eyes—it’s over. On signal from that trumpet from heaven, the dead will be up and out of their graves, beyond the reach of death, never to die again. At the same moment and in the same way, we’ll all be changed. In the resurrection scheme of things, this has to happen: everything perishable taken off the shelves and replaced by the imperishable, this mortal replaced by the immortal.” 1 Corinthians 15:51-53 (MSG)